


My Liege

by pizzacrusthoe



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, King George - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Poetic, PogChamp, knight dream, soft, ya know i had to do it bois.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzacrusthoe/pseuds/pizzacrusthoe
Summary: Clay finally returns to his king.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 265





	My Liege

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! so uh yeah today’s streams were INSANE and the king george/knight dream brainrot is so real. so. yeah. i had to.
> 
> (this is just for fun and i do not condone shoving shipping into george or dream’s faces)

The knight cut a proud figure in the fading sunlight, backlit by a glowing orange sky. He sat tall upon a restless mare, its mane rustling in the breeze of coming night, as shadows lengthened and crickets chirped. Louder still than the whinnying of the mare was the gentle _clink_ of chainmail, the tinny sound of metal on metal coming to a peak as the warrior lifted his iron-clad arms to grasp his helmet. It was a unique sort of helmet, brightly polished with a plume of sky blue feathers adorning the top; and it linked to an even more unique sort of visor, which covered the knight’s face completely and was inked with a crude smile. The eerie visor caught on the man’s nose just a bit as it was pulled upwards and off with the rest of the helmet, revealing a tanned face and piercing green eyes. His chapped lips quirked as he vaulted smoothly from his steed, who huffed with impatience as he began leading her down a cobbled path.

In the weak beams of dusty yellow and coral, the knight strode down the narrow street with confident grace, cutting between the humble - yet towering - townhomes that crowded either side of the avenue. The snow white mare seemed to know that they were dallying, seemed to think that there was greater need for them in the far horizons than there was here, but the young man ignored her grumbles and instead tugged harder on the reins. Nervous energy crackled around him as they neared their destination, and he picked up the pace. Finally they reached a crumbling archway nestled in an alleyway between two dilapidated store fronts, shuttered and dark, and the soldier paused to catch his breath. His eyes seemed to shine with anticipation as he quickly tied his almost patronizing companion to a stake at the foot of the archway and placed his helmet upon her empty saddle. As soon as the reigns were secured and his helmet balanced, the knight freed himself from his heavy iron greaves, exposing sculpted and calloused hands. He stuffed the clanking metal into the nearest open saddlebag and nervously ran his fingers through his sandy blond, sweat-dampened hair. Squinting at his reflection in the glistening helmet, the man tousled his hair and frowned, patting it down a bit, then fluffing it up again, before being startled by a whine. His horse knocked his arm lightly with her snout, snorting again as if to say _you look ridiculous_ , and then nudged him forward.

“Alright, alright!” the blond chuckled, before lowering his voice and explaining, “I’ll be back soon.”

Carefully he picked his way through the damp alleyway, the cobbles underfoot cracked and infested with weeds, emerging from the other side into a completely different world. Instead of mold and must, the air was scented with dew and honeyed sweetness, which bit at his exposed cheeks as the sun disappeared behind far mountains. The scene before him was lit only with soft moonlight, dappling the vines that sat over every inch of the secret courtyard. Surrounded on all sides by moss-grown walls covered in snaking ivy, the garden was sheltered and private, only exposed to the peaceful sky in which stars began to twinkle to life. Great, dark-leafed bushes crowded the space, creating a sort of precarious maze dotted with thorns and red roses, only interrupted by dilapidated stone benches and ancient marble bird baths long void of fresh water.

The warrior tilted his face to the clear night sky and inhaled deeply, lungs filling with crisp air and serenity and calm, before starting forward on a path that was as deeply ingrained in his heart as his vows of knighthood were. Dodging foliage and stepping over loose cobbles, the young man made it to the center of the courtyard and faced a seemingly solid thicket, only to quickly stoop close to the ground and grab ahold of a low hanging branch, pulling up. A small opening, just large enough to crawl through, was unveiled with the knight’s movement, and in his haste to scurry through, his right cheekbone was nicked and began to bead with blood. But he couldn’t feel the sting at all. Instead, he gazed forward, and exhaled for what felt like the first time in months.

“Hi Clay.”

Clay couldn’t help it. He stumbled to the soft bed of grass before him, abandoning any semblance of composure, dropped to his knees, and bowed his head,

“My liege,” his voice cracked, “it’s been so long.” Taking a fortifying breath and willing his gaze to clear, Clay glanced up into the face of the man before him and almost shattered.

His pale cheeks were tracked with tear marks, and his dark, deep, bottomless eyes were glistening. His well groomed hair had bits of grass in it, and his slender fingers clenched a handful of rose petals tightly in between his crossed legs. He was composed yet uncomposed, neatly put together yet playfully disheveled. He was beautiful. George was just as Clay remembered.

But he didn’t respond right away. His lips, pink from the cold, began to quiver, and his shoulders began to tremble. If not for the discarded blue cloak lying abandoned just a foot away, it could’ve been mistaken for shivering. They both knew better.

His lips parted for a second, only to close again along with his eyes, before he finally spoke,

“I thought you wouldn’t come.”

Clay left formality behind. Still on his knees, Clay reached for a lifeline. George released the rose petals.

George’s right hand was captured by both of Clay’s as scarlet rose petals drifted around their two bodies, caught by the breeze. Clay rested his forehead against George’s knuckles, as if in prayer, and tried to say something. Tried to say anything. His broken thoughts were interrupted by George’s soft caress against his cheek, the tentative brush of thumb on skin. Clay shuddered. George pulled away too quickly.

“You’re hurt,” George whispered. His accented words were shaky. Clay looked up to find that George was staring intently, eyebrows furrowed, at his own thumb, which had the tiniest smudge of fresh blood smeared across the pad. Clay gaped and lifted a hand to own cheek, not letting go of George with the other. He felt silly. He had thought that maybe… He almost laughed at himself. Impossible. It had been too long. In his misery, Clay spoke up,

“I didn’t feel it,” he choked out, “How could I, when all of my senses are filled with you?”

George made a sound. It was halfway between a sob and a hiccup, and a brilliant, watery smile began to spread across his face,

“That was awful,” he sniffled, “that was _so_ awful.”

Clay cracked, and began to weep. He released his grip and brought both palms up to cup George’s cheeks, wiping at the other man’s now freely falling tears with his thumbs. They were both laughing, and sobbing, and _together. Together, together, together._ George covered Clay’s hands with his own and gripped tightly, intending to never let go again. He brought their foreheads together, and closed his eyes, specks of water still forcing their way from under his eyelids. But no longer tears of pain, or tears of loss. These were tears of hope

Clay let himself drink in the sight of George. His long eyelashes, the softness of his trembling lips, the warmth of his hands, the pure euphoria of this moment.

“M-my liege…” Clay managed to gasp out, trying to convey all he was feeling at once. It was too much, and too little. How could he tell George that he would spend the rest of his life on this blanket of soft grass if it meant holding him close every night? How could he tell George that every time he closed his eyes - dream and nightmare alike - all he saw was him?

It was him. It had always, _always_ , been hi-

“George,” Clay heard him murmur, almost bashfully.

“What?” Clay breathed, puzzled. Hopeful.

“It’s George,” peeking up into Clay’s eyes, George continued, “for you, it’s only George.”

Clay inclined his head even further and grinned,

“Always,” his lips brushed George’s and he whispered, “George.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed!!!! i haven’t written in.. a hot minute. quarantine has really sucked. if you liked it i’d so appreciate if you left a kudos and if you have any comments i’d love to hear them :D also i might write more dnf soon if i stay inspired so uhh subscribe down below only a small percentage hahhahhah
> 
> edit: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR OVER 1000 HITS AND OVER 100 KUDOS IM DKANWDNALW. all the support and comments and kudos have made me so FREAKING happy and have inspired me so so much <333 thank you for clicking on this fic and giving it a chance


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